Fear the Night
by Efflorescent.Hours
Summary: It's usually the things in the dark, the things we cannot see and cannot understand that scare us most. Though if we wait, even darkness always gives way to the light. For Elle Velasquez and Daryl Dixon, light often comes from places we least expect or have long forgotten. [DarylxOC] Follows TWD tv storyline, mostly.


**_0x0_**

 ** _Fear the Night_**

 ** _Chapter 1: Before The End_**

* * *

 _Many, many years before The End_

"Jesse! Jesse, stop! I'm telling mom!"

" _Chismosa Conejita!"_ Jesse scowled, glaring at me. I stopped, and stuck out my tongue.

"You're a birdbrain, Jesse!" I shot back. My legs shook with fear, but I wouldn't let my brothers see that. They would tease me and call me a baby if they knew.

" _Conejita_ ," Juanito, Jesse's twin and my other older brother, stopped suddenly and grabbed the front of my pink shirt. "If you don't like it, go home! You're too little to play with us anyway."

"Juanito, leave her alone!" Jesse suddenly turned on us, glaring at Juan. In spite of all his tough talk and love for boxing, Jesse was the gentler brother, and would knock out anyone who hurt me.

Juan turned his dark, angry brown eyes on me; he scrunched the front of my shirt once more before pushing me away.

"I'm telling Mom!" I was seven, and telling on my older brothers was one of my favorite hobbies. Still I followed Jesse and Juan up the hill on that hot summer day.

When we got there, there was already a small crowd of boys gathered in a circle. Most of them were Juan's and Jesse's age—about thirteen—some a little younger, and some a little older. Some were smoking. As we neared the spot, Jesse gave me a sidelong glance and I nodded once. I told Mom every bad word they said, but I never told her about the boys who smoked or drank water bottles wrapped in brown paper bags.

"What'd you bring her for?" One of the boys scowled when he saw me. He took a long pull from his cigarette and blew it in my direction. I glared and waved a hand in front of my face.

"Told ya you should've stayed home," Juan muttered.

"Up yours," I fired back, and all the boys hooted. I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but I knew it made him mad whenever I said it to him.

The spot was the place to go before school, after school, and on weekends. It was a park all the kids gathered at, just a hill up from a freshwater stream and a dilapidated gazebo that we all gathered around. It was the place where the older boys and girls came after dark, and it was a place where kids went to settle their scores.

"Where's that sumbitch Mexican?"

I flinched and all the boys went quiet at the gruff voice; Jesse visibly bristled in response.

" _Puto_ ," he swore at the boy who talked.

The boy was Jesse's and Juan's age—about thirteen—he had brown hair, lightened by the summer sun and blue eyes that always seemed to push people away. He was taller than Jesse—and bigger. Mom always said Jesse was skin and bones, and the boy with guarded blue eyes definitely had more bulk than Jesse.

Immediately, everyone except Jesse and the boy moved to the gazebo, and in a rare show of protectiveness, Juanito took my hand and let me sit by him.

Jesse and the boy circled each other. "You're gonna wish you never came out here, _puto_."

The boy spat at Jesse's feet and put up his fists. "Let's go, prick, come at me."

I watched as Jesse put his fists up too. The boys circled each other for what seemed like another long minute before the other boy lunged at Jesse, going for his knees. I gasped and covered my eyes just as all the boys started yelling.

"Get his legs, Dixon!"

"You show that beaner!"

"That was a cheap shot!"

I finally mustered the courage to peak from behind the darkness of my eyes and saw Daryl Dixon, the kid my parents warned us to stay away from, on top of my brother landing punch after punch, and Jesse covered his face.

"Jesse!" I screamed, and I felt Juan's hand dig into my arm to stop me from running forward.

Daryl looked up at me, and maybe he saw my wide eyes, but he paused for a moment, and that was long enough for Jesse to uncover his face and roll around, laying Daryl flat. Jesse then began to beat Daryl in the face until there was blood on both of their faces.

"Jesse!"

"Shut up, Elena," Juan hissed at me, but I only cried louder—there was just too much blood.

One of the boys smoking next to Juan looked at me; he then nudged Juan's shoulder. "Elle's right, Juan. We gotta stop this."

The boy dropped his cigarette and ground it into the dirt before he and Juan got up.

"Dixon! Velasquez! Enough, stop! Jesse, stop!"

Daryl managed to get back on his feet, and he and Jesse squared off—Daryl was unable to land any punches because Jesse was too fast, and because Jesse, just like Juan and our older brother Carlos in the Army, was taught to box by our dad.

Juan rushed forward to pull Jesse away and the other boy blocked Daryl. In spite of myself, I ran forward too.

"Ger'off," Daryl growled, trying to lunge forward, but Juan and the other kid stood between him and Jesse. Jesse made eye contact with me, and that was enough to still him.

"Stop, Jess, Mom's gonna kill you when she sees that black eye!"

"Least I have a mother." Jesse glared at Daryl.

"Jesse!" I glared at him—everyone knew the Dixon boys lost their mother last year, and that only made the Dixon boys wilder—until Merle Dixon left for the Army too and Daryl was left alone.

"You bastard!" Daryl swore and lunged again.

"Stop it!" I screamed, and before I realized it, I jumped in front of my brothers, and in front of Daryl. He was bigger than me, but there was just too much blood.

"Elena!" Jesse and Carlos jumped in front of me, and Daryl halted in his steps.

"Touch her, I'll kill you, asshole," Juan warned.

Daryl looked down at me, and I noticed he had a cut just above his left eyebrow and it trickled blood down the side of his face. He then looked up at my brothers and scoffed. "Shouldna brought some dumb kid here."

I knew he wasn't really insulting me, but my brothers' logic.

"Fights over," said a boy from the gazebo who looked no older than eleven. "Let's all go for a swim and catch some frogs." Other boys heartedly agreed and soon the crowd left.

"Let's go, man," Juan said to Jesse. "Wash you off. Mom's definitely gonna kill you when she sees that eye."

"Let's go _conejita_."

I started to follow my brothers and the rest of the crowd when something told me to pause. I turned and looked for Daryl and noticed that he was walking quickly toward the steam too, but away from everyone else.

"Elena! C'mon!"

"I'll find you later!" Against the cries of my brother, I followed Daryl Dixon.

 **0x0**

Daryl walked at a brisk pace, and I was jogging to keep up as he went up the stream—and soon I could no longer hear the voices of the others.

Eventually Daryl stopped by the steam. As quietly as I could I got closer to him, and eventually perched on a log, and watched as he stripped off his shirt and walked into the water. I watched as Daryl ducked under the water and emerged, running his hands through his wet hair.

"You're one shitty tracker the way you stomp all loud and shit."

I jumped when I realized he was talking to me. "Then why'd you say nothin'?"

Daryl walked out of the water and sat on the shore, I noticed for the first time, there was a tent pitched not too far away. Since he was talking to me, I decided to get up from my log and join him.

"You stupid or somethin', Elle? Go on, girl, git!" Daryl shook his head angrily and spit toward the water.

"You got a cut above your eye, right here," I pointed to my own eye, "you know that?"

Daryl glared at me before looking away, touching the spot I mentioned. When he pulled away, there was still blood.

"Here, lemme look."

I stomped over to Daryl, and reached into my hair. Holding my dark brown hair back was a red bandana, and I undid the knot and shook it out of my hair.

"Watch you—"

"Sit still! You're worse than Juanito when he's got a hangnail. Damn." I folded my bandana up and pressed it to the cut on his forehead.

"I got it." Daryl's fingers covered mine as he took over from my handy work.

I squinted at him against the sun before I sat next to him and watched him.

"What you still here for?"

"Don't you know howta block a punch?" I stood up and raised my fists. "You're s'posed to keep your hands up like this." I put my arms up and close to my head.

"Didja brothers teach ya that?"

"Naw. Dad did. He boxed in the marines. Taughts us all to block a hit and throw a proper punch."

"Makes sense."

"Jesse got you good."

Daryl glared again.

"But you got a couple good ones too." Daryl looked away from me and at the water. I took this moment to look at his tent.

"You sleep out here?"

"You talk too much."

"Jaunito says that a lot." I shrugged my shoulders.

" _Conejita_! Elena!"

"Elle!"

In the distance I heard Juan's and Jesse's voice calling for me.

"You should go," said Daryl, his voice was still rough, but it wasn't mean. "Brothers' are lookin' for ya." Daryl pulled my red bandana away from his head and looked at it. "Here. I mean, it's got blood on it but—"

"Keep it, I got lots more at home." I offered him a smile. "I get one every year on my birthday, and tomorrow I turn eight!"

Surprisingly, the older boy laughed.

"Elle!"

I looked to the voices before I looked at Daryl. "I'm gonna go. I leave so they don't find your camp."

Daryl nodded at me and pressed the bandana to his forehead again. Before I left, he called after me, "Hey, Elle?"

"What?"

"What's _Conejita_?"

I stopped and turned around, cocking my head to the side. "It's a dumb nickname my family gave me. Means bunny girl. Ever since I was a baby, my mom put a bandana in my hair, and put the knot at the top so it stuck up like bunny ears, and I always wear it that way now."

Daryl seemed to process that information before he looked at me again and nodded.

"Elena!"

I sighed and turned around again, biting my lip. I didn't want to leave the boy by himself, but I didn't want to make my brothers angry.

"I need to go—"

"Yeah, yeah," said Daryl, and he waved me away. "Happy birthday."

I smiled as I ran toward my brothers so they wouldn't find Daryl's camp. Daryl didn't tell me to keep it a secret, but I felt like I had to—and it was fun having a secret that not even my brothers knew. As I joined my brothers and walked with them home, I was silent as I thought about the boy with the guarded eyes. I had seen my brothers shirtless hundreds of times, even running around in their underwear, but something about seeing Daryl shirtless was different.

Years later I realized he was my first crush.

 **X**

 _Still years before The End_

I walked up the short hill to the old gazebo, funny how things seemed so much bigger when you're younger. When I was little, this hill seemed like a journey into a new world.

I made it up to the dusty gazebo and sat on one of the old rails, putting my backpack beside me. I was just on time for sunset. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a half full bottle of whiskey.

To the setting sun, I raised my bottle of Maker's Mark and took a long drag, shaking off the chills that came with the impending night. Quickly, I pulled the bottle away—the burning liquid seared my throat, and tears rushed to my eyes as I coughed and wiped my mouth on my arm.

"You a lightweight ain't ya?"

I turned and noticed a figure come from the woods. He was older than me, around my brother's age—but those guarded blue eyes rarely seemed to change.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you'd be Bigfoot by the way you go trompin' around in those damned woods, Daryl Dixon."

"Still quieter than you any day," Daryl fired back in his even drawl. He was smoking a cigarette. I watched as he brought it to his lips, the orange tip glowed into the fading evening. Somehow, just that little bit of light in the darkness was comforting.

"Still livin' in a tent in the woods?"

Daryl chuckled once. "Still going by…what'd they call ya? _Conejita_?"

I tried to smile, but it seemed like my face forgot how to move those certain muscles to make it happen. "Jesse gave me that name y'know."

Daryl blew out the smoke from his cigarette as he flicked it to the ground and stomped it out. Quietly, he joined me.

I offered him the bottle of Maker's. Daryl took it, tipped it toward me before he drank.

"Sorry 'bout Jesse."

"S'fine," I murmured, my shoulders hunched and I couldn't look at him.

"It ain't."

I looked up to see him watching me intently before he looked away.

"It isn't," I agreed. "Damn hillbilly bastards shouldn't drive drunk." Jesse wasn't the one drunk. He was five minutes from home and was run off the road by someone drunk. It was pitch black and not another soul on the road. The bastards who hit him just drove off, and Jesse's car was found by highway patrol. He and Juan were set to leave for the army in two months. Nothing was fine.

"It'll be fine," I repeated, more for myself than anything. "I leave for University of Georgia at first light. Leaving this damn backwater town will be good." I brought two fingers to my forehead and saluted. "Good riddance."

I looked at the bottle that I dangled between my legs and brought it up, an offering to the sky. "To Jesse Velasquez, the gentle one." I drank, and this time, the whiskey went straight to my head. I barely flinched when Daryl reached across to take the bottle from me.

"To Jesse Velasquez," he said gruffly before he drank, "to one of the best right hooks I've ever seen."

For the first time since Jesse died, a laugh escaped from my lips. "Have you learned how to block a punch yet?" I took my bottle of whiskey back and drank again. Putting the cap on it, I put it in my backpack and jumped to the ground.

Immediately, I was unsteady on my feet. "C'mon, Dixon, can ya block?" I put up my fists, just like my dad taught me, just like he taught all of my brothers. I spaced my feet so it would be harder to knock me down, even for a guy of Daryl's height and bulk.

"I ain't gonna hit a girl," Daryl growled as I jabbed him lightly on the arm.

"Oh c'mon, let me see you block!" It was the alcohol speaking for me. With a smile, I shot a straight arm out for Daryl's face. He easily grabbed my wrist, his fingers wrapping around the blue bandana that covered my wrist. The action meant to still me, made me lose my footing.

"Lightweight," Daryl muttered as he moved forward to steady me, gripping my upper arm—his fingers, I noticed, were gentle, but his grip was steady.

"I don't drink much."

"Sure you ready to drink with all them frat boys in college?"

"That's the last thing on my mind," I said. I searched Daryl's eyes for a moment before he let me go and looked away.

"C'mon, I'm taking you home. You shouldn't be out here on your own."

"I'm not alone, you're here."

"I got places to be. Let's go." Daryl started walking down the hill, and with a sigh, I gathered my backpack and followed him.

When we neared his motorcycle I paused, my knees shaking as cold washed over me.

"What'sa matter with you," asked Daryl, noticing my reaction.

"It-it was pitch black just like this when Jesse died," I whispered. Not that I knew—but the nightmares convinced me of it. Daryl looked from me and then to his bike, unsure of what to do.

"Elle, I ain't drunk, and I'm a damn good driver," Daryl tried.

"I'll walk."

"You're too drunk to walk even two feet. I'm driving. Sooner you get on, the sooner you get out of the darkness."

His logic made sense. Daryl then hopped on his bike and kicked it to life. Taking a deep breath I breathed it out and walked over to him, carefully joining in behind him.

"Should I-" I reached around his waist tentatively, and Daryl flinched so violently, I immediately dropped my hands. "Well I guess I can grip these handles instead…"

"Belt loops," Daryl said abruptly. He reached for my hands and hooked my fingers through the loops of his jeans. It didn't feel as secure as I would have holding his waist, but after his reaction, I wasn't willing to try again. Without a word, Daryl revved his engine and we took off into the night.

In less than fifteen minutes, Daryl pulled into my parents' driveway, idled his motorcycle, and angled the headlights to illuminate a clear path to my front door. There was a light on in the living room I noticed as I got off the bike, flexing my fingers.

"I think I broke one of your loops."

Daryl looked down to where I pointed to see one of his belt loops dangling. Without a second thought, he ripped it off and tossed it into the dirt, and I couldn't help but smile.

The front door opened.

" _Mijita?_ Elena?"

"Mom's callin' ya." Daryl nodded toward the door, as if dismissing me.

Echoes of a childhood memory flooded my brain in that moment. A memory of one of my brothers teasing Daryl because he didn't have a mom—a familiar sense of anxiety filled me, and I had so many words to say to Daryl, but instead he revved his engine and I jumped at the sound.

"Thanks for the ride, Daryl," I said, nodding to him. "You're one of the good ones."

Daryl immediately looked away, so I turned away as well, since I didn't expect a response.

"Hey, Elle?"

I turned, and over the lights of his motorcycle, my green eyes found his unfathomable blue ones. "Good luck in college. You got a hell of an arm, use it to keep them frat boys away."

"Thanks, Daryl. Good night."

I joined my parents inside, and since Jesse's death, it was as if they were a shell of their former selves.

"Was that the young Dixon boy," my mom asked in Spanish. "He's bad news, _mijita_."

"He's a good man, Mama," I said with certainty. "He was just giving me a ride." I kissed her cheek then went over and kissed my father's cheek as he watched us from the living room. "I'm going to bed, we got an early start tomorrow."

 **0x0**

"Fuck this," I muttered to myself as I plopped myself down on a bench under a tree. I glanced at the study guides for the first round of midterms and swore again.

"Heads!"

I looked up just in time to see something orange flying directly toward my face, and immediately I reached out and caught it.

"Dude, nice catch."

I spun the orange Frisbee in my hand and cocked an eyebrow at boy my age who came running after it. He had long blonde hair, a goatee, and blue eyes. He was in my Introduction to Philosophy class.

"You look familiar," the boy said, assessing me.

"Intro to Philosophy Tuesday and Thursday mornings," I said.

"That's right," the boy agreed with a nod and smile. He held out a hand. "Paul Rovia. Friends call me Jesus."

As soon as he said that, I realized the uncanny similarity between him and the crucified Lord.

"Elena Velasquez. I go by Elle." We shook hands.

"Yo, we should study for the exam together," Paul suggested.

"Sure…but do I have to call you Jesus?" I frowned slightly—calling this kid Jesus felt too blasphemous for my taste.

"It's not a requirement," Paul laughed.

"Then alright. We'll meet at the library. How about tomorrow."

"Yeah, I can do tomorrow. Eight sound good?"

I stopped cold. It was well into the night by that time.

"Elle?" Paul waved a hand in front of my face. "You good?"

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. "Yes," I said, more to convince myself than anything else. "Eight works fine."

"Yo! Jesus! You done flirting or what? We got a game to play." I looked up as one of his friends called out to him.

"Be there in a minute!" Paul called back. I looked down at the Frisbee in my hands.

"This what they want?" I stood and spun the orange disc on a finger before I launched it into the air—it flew fast and true, and into the waiting hands of his friend that called out.

Paul whistled, impressed. "That's one hell of an arm, Elle. Good aim."

"I've been told I had a good arm. My dad taught my brothers and me to box, and I spent my childhood throwing knives and skipping rocks with my brothers too."

"That's rad. Anyway. Tomorrow. Library. Eight o'clock." Paul waved at me before he jogged back to his friends, and I waved, rolling my eyes at his retreating form.


End file.
